


Chilled to the Bone

by still_lycoris



Category: Victor Frankenstein (2015)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Community: hc_bingo, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7610833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor hates the cold more than anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chilled to the Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt "survivor's guilt"

Victor hates it when he gets cold. 

He gets cold easily. Minor chills seem to pierce his bones, leave him trembling. He keeps the rooms hot, wraps up well, tries to keep it away from him. But anything can go wrong and sometimes, he wakes up shivering and it's all back, all of it. The cold. The loss.

_“We''ll be fine,” Henry whispered and he sounded so sure, even though his teeth were chattering. “They'll come soon. Here, put my coat on, you'll need it, that's right little brother.”_

_And Victor took the coat and cuddled up in Henry's protective arms and Henry rubbed him and rocked him and whispered that everything would be fine until his voice was soft and slurring and Victor didn't understand, he didn't know so he just stayed cuddled up to the warmth and leached it away into himself until it was too late …_

_“Henry? I think it's over. Henry, wake up. Henry, wake up. Please? It's all over. We're safe. Henry? Please? Please …?”_

When he gets cold at night, he crawls in with Igor. He's a worthless addict, a complete fool but he's warm and solid and never stirs when another man crawls into his bed. Victor can whisper to him, the confused thoughts that only come when it's dark and Igor doesn't react, just lies in his self-induced stupor.

When he dies, Victor misses the warmth more than anything else.

_The funeral was icy, solid dark earth, the coffin being lowered down in a flurry of snow. Victor stood there, trembling from head to toe, feeling sick. Father wouldn't hold his hand. He didn't look at Victor at all. It was like Victor was the one that had stopped existing._

_“It should have been you.”_

_Father never said it out-loud. But Victor knew it all the same. He thought about Henry, waited for him, wanted him but Henry didn't come, couldn't come because Henry was dead and it was all Victor's fault._

_“ I only wanted to play!”_

_But nobody cared about that._

The second Igor is warm too. But he doesn't sleep in a stupor, he jerks awake when Victor crawls in.

“Victor? What are you doing?!”

“Need the warmth,” he mutters and pushes his hands against the other man's chest, nuzzles his head against a shoulder. It's warm here, warm and comfortable and he doesn't care what anybody thinks.

“You … can't sleep here?” Igor says. It's a question rather than anything else.

“Course I can. Hush now, go back to sleep. Just want to be warm … ”

“I … all right … ”

Igor is stiff and uncertain and Victor knows he can't murmur things to him as he did to the other one. But he is already warmer with Igor's skin against his. He can sleep here, sleep and rest and then he'll be able to work in the morning, work the way he needs to, get the important things done … He killed Henry. Killed his brother, his only brother and he has to make up for it. He has to be as good as he would have been _and_ as good as Henry would have been. He has to be amazing. Then Father will love him again, forgive him and everything will be fine and he won’t have to blame himself ever again …

“Victor? You're shaking, do you have a fever? Do you need something?”

Igor sounds so concerned. It's strange, he isn't used to it. Nobody has been concerned about him for such a long time. When he lifts his head a little, Igor is looking down at him, frowning as though he … cares.

Has anyone truly cared about him since the night he lived and Henry died?

“Just stay with me,” he says and Igor lies down, rearranging himself a little. Now, their foreheads are close together, they lie chest-to-chest and Igor's arms are around him properly, a definite embrace.

It's nice.

And it's warm.

Victor considers telling Igor that this feels good, that it's better than the other Igor's dull embrace, that he feels better like this, that it almost makes him not feel so bad about what he did. But he is tired and warm and he sinks into sleep before he can.

It's probably for the best.


End file.
